Goodbye-ee
by Sockitysocks
Summary: Continuing my 'Home is Miles Away' universe. Kitmas and Jiles galore! All began from the prompt of Jo being sent back to the front. But also quite a few Jiles feels... Sorry about that... Please give it a read anyway! Being continued now that I am returned from my travels!
1. 24th October 1918

** Hmm.. Okay, so I was given the prompt of Jo being sent back to the front...**

**You do need to have read Home Is Miles Away for this to make sense... So read that first if you haven't already :)**

**My friends have all said they hate me for this... So... Enjoy! (And IM SORRY!)**

**..**

24th October 1918, 1200 hrs.

_Miles_

Jo looked at the word she'd written before scribbling it out and starting again.

_Captain Hesketh-__Thorne_

_It's funny, I don't even know how to address a letter to you. I suppose I never thought I'd be apart from you long enough for there to be a need._

A sad smile pulled at the creases of her mouth as Jo continued writing.

_Now that I've started this letter I don't know what I wanted to write; I wanted to say that I miss you, but somehow now I've come to put it in a letter it all seems so superficial. Of course I miss you, you know that.  
We've been told we'll be making another big push in twelve hours – even though that was nearly five hours ago now, I'm going to insist I have twelve hours left until the last second before that whistle blows.  
We could hear them singing this morning, the wind carriedtheir voices straight across to us. Plain as day. John joked that he was glad that their voices was all it was carrying. He's fine by the way – we all are, just dandy. Though if he points out one more spelling mistake, I'm going to be the one killing him._

Jo stopped writing, her hand hovering the pen above the paper as the silence stretched around her.

_Luke just told me to make sure you weren't pining after us. I'll punch him for that when the sergeant isn't looking._

The lies flowed freely from the nib of the pen.

_Our Captain's saying the Germans are close to surrender and some of the boys actually believe him this time. I think I almost believe him this time. It has to be over soon, doesn't it?_

Jo stared at the letter as one escaped tear dropped onto the paper before tracking its way down through the writing, pulling the ink with it. She didn't move; she watched it gather in a crease in the paper and spread along the thin line leaving a wash of pale ink as it dried.

She closed her eyes for a second, composing herself before she lifted her head to the line of unfamiliar faces packed into the trench. No one was talking, there wasn't the patriotic forced cheeriness that there had been before – when she was with her family – now it was scared strangers, all far too wrapped up in their own self-pity to notice anyone else.

"Look lively you lazy bastards!" The shout was followed by the heavy footsteps pounding across the duck boards as Captain Stewart strode towards where they were huddled. Jo jumped at his voice, the pen sliding from her fingers into the mud.

"Henderson, Carter – you're with me!"

The two men scrambled to their feet, with shaking limbs and pale faces as they hurriedly followed the man. He wasn't even their Captain, but an order was an order – they couldn't disobey.

Jo watched them leave, and she couldn't help but feel glad it wasn't her who had been chosen. She knew well enough now that they were being taken for tunnelling. The only thing she could think of that would be worse than dying filled with machine-gun fire caught on barbed wire, would be dying in a dark tunnel underneath no man's land, suffocating slowly in the pitch blackness.

No, she couldn't think like that. Melancholic thoughts weren't going to help her now. She picked up her pen, and pushed everything out of her mind.

_I guess I'm just writing for something to do while I'm waiting for the whistle._

She was writing because she missed him, and writing to him made him feel closer, and because by writing the lies into the letter she was able to convince herself – just for a moment – that they were true.

So absorbed was she in her own mind that Jo never heard the rattles, nor noticed the commotion as panic travelled along the line of men, followed by the heavy-coloured vapour which poured relentlessly into the trench. It was only when the sweet-smelling stuff tickled her nostrils that with inconceivable rapidity the gas spread and a blind paniccoursed through her. She fought for her gas hood but the gas was working, burning at her eyes and ears, and there was nothing left that she could do other than climb up out of it. The body of a man fell across the berm – the small shelf carved into the side of the trench – she had been writing at, covering the half-finished letter, but she found she couldn't care. With no thoughts but self-preservation she found herself scrambling over him trying to reach above the gas. Dizzy with the need for air and convulsing with the bitterness of the gas she rolled herself over the parapet, choking on her own breath. She threw up. The scars in her stomach ripped with the violent movement but she was barely aware of the pain that it caused. She retched again as dark figures around her sought the refugeof no man's land over the trench – staggering, falling, lurchingon.

A hail of rifle fire and shrapnel mowed them down. Jo rolled over on her side, barely conscious, all the energy she possessed drained in her efforts to rip the invisible constraints around her neck. She retched again, coughing and choking as she tried to crawl away – from what exactly she didn't know, even less where she was crawling to.

The frenzy of yells had quietened now as the men died where they lay, with frothing bubbles gurgling in their throats and the foul liquid welling up in their lungs. With blackened faces and twisted limbs, one by one, they drowned – only that which drowned them came from inside and not from out.

Jo was barely conscious as she crawled on; she had no thoughts but that she needed to keep going. She dug her elbows into the dirt, dragging herself forwards, not caring that every movement pulled harder on her side. Neither did she care how the world was steadily growing darker – not in theway that day fades to night, this was much harsher. Her eyes just stopped seeing. But she didn't care, and she didn't care when she felt the ground beneath her elbows give and she was falling, rolling into a deep crater. Consciousness left her before she reached the bottom of the pit and the dark, silent world took over.

.

1500 hrs.

A gentle pattering hit her face, like the first drops of rain gently cascading from the sky. Then the rain grew harder,until it became hail, and still it grew harder.

Her eyes snapped open and Jo found herself gasping as if she hadn't taken a breath in days. More rain was flung at her face, only now she realised it wasn't rain. It was dirt – thrown up from the shelling. So she was still alive.

She coughed as another spray of gravely mud coated her, the movement sending waves of pain through her side. So muchpain, and it only increased with every breath. She tried to push herself to her elbows but agony surged from her stomach,making her retch again. A thick black bile emptied itself from her lungs as she choked on the pain; there was so much. It consumed her, every part of her transfixed with the terrible agony. The more it hurt, the more violently she threw up, and with every retch she could feel the long healed stitches tugging the weaker tissue.

Somehow she managed to move herself away from where she'd fallen, using the sloping sides of the crater as support – anything to take the pressure of the muscles convulsing in her stomach. Her breaths were shallow and fast, afraid of adding to the pain as she collapsed back against the side.

Voices were approaching. She could just make them out through the deafening commotion, though whether that was from inside or outside her head she wasn't confident. She couldn't find it in herself to feel hope as the voices grew nearer, so she felt nothing when she made out the German tones among them.

She tried to lift her head, but she couldn't. It was like her body wasn't her own anymore.

A sound like falling sand told Jo she was no longer alone. Almost reflexively her head fell to the side, her bleary eyes catching sight of the grey uniform. Only it wasn't grey anymore, the bright red stain of blood covered what little of him was left. There was a hole in his uniform – in the chest –so deep that his ribs could be seen, shining white over where Jo could see his heart, pumping uselessly in his open chest. He wasn't dead.

His eyes swivelled uselessly in his skull, until they rested on Jo. She felt her own heart stop as his eyes burned into her flesh.

"Bitter," the man stretched out a shaking arm towards her. "Bitter." His voice was no more than a breath, but there was no mistaking his cry.

Jo heard footsteps resounding on the ground as more men approached. The Fritz in the crater was pointing her out to the men; he was asking them to shoot her.

"Bitter!" Despite everything his quavering voice raised in volume.

There was no way that the Germans would be able to walk past her now; she didn't understand his words but she knew he was telling them to kill her. She wished he would just die, then he would fall silent and the Germans would leave. But he didn't die; his unprotected heart beat furiously in his chest, the pool of blood visibly vibrating around it.

She heard a shout of German from above her followed by the soft clicks of a rifle being loaded, and she closed her eyes. This wasn't how she was supposed to go – it wasn't supposed to be like this. Alone, and in a crater, she hadn't seen a single person she knew since the day she'd been sent back to the front. Miles thought she was with John, because that's what she'd told Tom to tell him, and John thought she was still with Miles – neither of them knew. She didn't know if that made it better or worse and it wasn't like she had the luxury of time to decide.

She heard the snap of the gun being cocked, and they dying man's strangled pleas. Couldn't he even let her die in peace?

No, she wasn't going to die thinking about a German – she wasn't going to give him the honour.

Instead she let Miles' face swim into her vision: the creases at the corners of his eyes when he smiled and the way his eyes sparkled as he flirted his way through life, they were to be her last thoughts. She could control that at least. Miles would be the last name on her lips. Miles, Miles…

She wasn't aware that her lips were moving silently, speaking his name with whatever breath she had left.

'Miles.'

Her heart was beating wildly, so loudly that she could hear every stutter rushing past her ears.

'Miles.'

The German's fist clenched around the barrel of his gun.

'Miles.'

Finger touched trigger and the shot rang, muffled by the sound of the shells falling around them, and in the crater the frantically beating heart juddered once more before it finally stopped.

**..**

**I suppose all that's left really is for me to say sorry... Especially to you Jiles shippers... Umm... Yeah... Sorry :p**

**As I've said I'm going to China on Tuesday (and I still need to pack) so it probably wont be finished till I'm back. **

**something I apologise for muchly. **

**Reviews are always welcome, however much you now hate me ;) and I'm sorry! **


	2. 1st August 1918

**HiHi!  
So a miracle happened and I actually have chapter two ready today‼ I mean I haven't packed or anything… but that's not important. (Okay… maybe a bit)  
Anyhoo… here's a _slightly_ happier chapter than the last one. **

**Oh, and I don't think I mentioned last time, but the dates are fairly important (because this is all written in weird orders- but I promise it all makes sense in the end.)**

**Onwards you go‼**

**..**

1st August 1918. 1700 hrs.

Jo was sat outside her tent in the warm sun, a long line of boots laid out in front of her as she worked her way through them, bringing the shine back into the tired leather for the men who would be on the next convoy back to Blighty.

The hospital was quiet; most of the staff had already been reposted to hospitals nearer the front and only a small scattering of nurses – including the VADs – remained. Thankfully, being Captains, Tom and Miles had been given leniency and were allowed to stay where they were so, at least for now, the four of them were still together.

A truck pulling into the gates made Jo glance up from the boots, and she found herself staring in amazement at the men who jumped out and began unloading crates from the back. She'd become accustomed to men who were more dead than alive arriving, but these men that were climbing from the truck weren't returning from the front – there wasn't so much as a bandage in sight.

Their CO barked orders which they obeyed with an energetic eagerness that Jo hadn't seen from anyone but Miles in a long time.

"Poor bastards."

She looked to where Tom had appeared next to her, his eyes trailing over the men. "They don't know what's out there waiting for them," he sighed, a pained look crossing his face. "And for God's sake I hope they end up in a rest camp before they find out."

Jo didn't say anything, she just turned back to the boots. She didn't want to wish death on these men, but it was the nicest thing that could happen to them once they reached the trenches.

"How long are they staying here?" she asked, watching their cheery faces as they continued to unload kit from the back of the truck. Their optimism was strangely depressing.

"Only a few hours I think," he answered, sitting himself cross legged on the ground beside her. "They were just dropping off some things that HQ seemed to think we'd need."

"You do know there is a chair less than two metres away from you," Jo rolled her eyes in an attempt to lighten the mood. "I think your rank gives you the privilege to use it."

Tom just stretched his arms out above his head, a laugh on his lips. "What sort of man would I be if I made a lady sit in the mud while I relaxed in the comfort of a chair?" he grinned with a mockingly shocked tone.

Jo threw the brush at him. "Someone will hear you, and then we'll both be shot! You know the British army's policy – Guilty until proven dead."

Tom just laughed and threw the brush back, flicking specks of polish from his uniform. "Jo, my dear Jo, you have been here for two years. If anyone hasn't realised by now, frankly they're too stupid to find out in such an obvious way." He grinned. "You and Miles have hardly been subtle."

She smiled, it was true. She'd tried to be careful at first – then she'd got bored.

"I still don't know how you managed to hide for so long in the trenches."

Jo squinted slightly, "well-" she dragged the 'e' out with a grin. "I think it's safe to say that my first Captain found out."

Tom's eyebrows rose slightly, "do I want to hear this story, or will Miles get jealous?"

Jo laughed. "No, it wasn't like that, well, not really." She paused for a moment as she figured out the words to say. "After a rather boisterous night of leave, we were all sent for a short arm inspection."

Tom's face convulsed as he guffawed in only the way a Scotsman can. "That's…" he found that he couldn't think and laugh at the same time. "That's not funny," he tried to draw his face into a composed mask but the smile belied his words.

"Shut up," Jo was grinning as she complained. "I can honestly say I've never seen a man jump out of a dugout so fast."

Tom held up his hands. "You're going to need to tell the whole story here - you can't tease me like this, it's unfair."

An embarrassed smile crept onto her reddening face, "It wasn't funny!"

"I don't believe you." Tom levelled his stare and she broke into a laugh.

"Fine! But if he hadn't been such a decent Captain I'd have been standing before a barrel with the larks singing." Jo prodded him in the leg. "We'd been out in one of the towns, I don't remember which one, but all the lads had gone to... Madame Belroche's, I think it was called. I'd gone with them of course, but…" she left the sentence hanging as she raised her eyebrows at Tom's efforts to keep from laughing. "I told you this isn't funny!"

"Then why are you smiling!" Tom protested, unable to fight the laughter anymore.

Jo threw a boot at him, "I'm not!" she lied.

"Just finish the story!"

Chewing on her lip, Jo began to ramble. "We were all called for the inspection, I refused to let the doctor check, he sent me to the Captain, he asked me why I wouldn't listen to the doctor, I lied and said… I can't remember what I said but whatever it was he didn't believe me. Then he sat me down, all seriously and explained the importance of hygiene in a rather too detailed way…" she ignored Tom's quiet sniggering. "He said he'd call the doctor into the dugout so we could have privacy, and I didn't know what else to do, so I told him."

Tom's head was in his hands as he laughed. "You just told him?" He looked at her in amusement. "And he believed you?"

"No." Jo was laughing at the memory of the man's face. "But then I took my tunic off."

Tom snorted, his laugh wracking through his whole body as he tried to breathe. He gulped just enough air to let out another load bark of laughter. "You-" He tried again. "You… You just… you just took it off?"

Jo covered her face with her hands. "I wasn't thinking! I panicked."

"I bet you weren't the only one panicking." Tom was still laughing.

"He turned as red as a tomato and ran from the dugout." Jo let her embarrassment fade as she laughed. "It was a good thing he was moving so fast, it meant Fritz didn't get a change to shoot."

Tom shook his head in amazement. "So what happened next? I'm guessing – by the way you're still breathing – he didn't give you a court-martial."

"I sat in the dugout for ages waiting for something to happen, then when he finally came back he blushed more than I'd thought humanly possible, but he told me that he'd told the doctor to mark me off and that was the end of it." Jo grinned. "Out of all the captains I've had, he was the best."

Another snort escaped Tom's lips. "That might need rephrasing."

Jo frowned for a second before her eyes widened and she gasped, smacking his leg with the back of the brush. "Thomas!" She exclaimed indignantly as he sat there laughing.

"Miles will definitely be jealous," he teased as she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Where is he?" Jo asked, trying to change the topic of conversation, spitting on the toecap of the boot in her hand.

Tom shrugged as his laughter subsided. "I think he was dealing with an infection." He grinned, laughing at his words before he'd even said them. "But don't worry – I doubt he'll get the same result as your Captain."

Jo's retort was cut off by a shout.

"Private Coleman!"

Both looked up to see Foley striding towards them purposefully. "Joe, the Colonel wants you to report to him. Now." He added as he reached them. "There's a few officers there, came with the convoy. So go smart," he advised as she shoved the boots to one side, dragging herself to her feet.

Jo mumbled her thanks as she twisted the buttons into their places and straightened out her jacket. "Why does he want to see me?"

Foley shrugged. "It's not my place to know."

She threw a glance back at Tom, who looked just as bemused, and followed Peter towards the hut. She was led into the Colonel's office where he sat sedated behind his desk. His eyes flicked away from her as she entered as if he didn't see her. Two other brass hats were sat in front of the desk, their arms folded and stern expressions on their faces.

"Coleman," one of them acknowledged her presence. "I understand you were stationed here as an orderly two years ago?"

"Yes sir." Jo replied automatically.

"It seems you refused to be sent home…" He wasn't questioning, he knew exactly what had happened.

A knot settled in her stomach. Was this the court martial she had been expecting? "Yes sir," she repeated. He face was a façade.

"Despite having had operations on your stomach." His flat tone scared her as he flicked through some sheets on a clipboard. Her records probably.

"Sir."

He nodded, his eyes not rising from the paper to look at her. "You've been healing well?"

"Yes sir."

"They're good doctors here," he seemed to agree. "Can you run, Coleman?"

Jo was taken aback by the sudden question. "Sir," she stammered, her answer sounding more like another question. She knew where this was going and her hands shook against her sides.

"We're sending you back to the front."

Her stomach became an abyss. There it was. She would have preferred the court martial. She swallowed dryly. "Sir."

Whatever was said next completely passed her by. She just handed her book back to the Colonel, barely registering her own movement. Brett never once raised his eyes to look at her as he scribbled her new unit information onto the pages.

"Good," the other brass hat announced as Jo shoved the book back into her pocket. "You'll be leaving with the convoy."

Okay, she could do this. Tom had said they'd be here a few hours, that would give her enough time to… it would be long enough. It had to be.

"You have five minutes."

No! That wasn't fair! "Yes Sir."

"Go on then," his look was full of disdain. "Toute suite. We don't have all day, Coleman."

"Yes sir," she saluted formally, wishing she could punch the smugness from his face. But she wasn't going to give that bloody base rat the satisfaction of provoking a reaction from her. She turned on her heel and found herself practically escorted back to her tent by Foley who must have been waiting outside.

Jo didn't let herself think as she followed him towards the tent. If she thought about what – about who – she was leaving, she wouldn't be able to go. And she didn't have a choice.

Tom was still sat outside the tent and he stood up when he saw her face, but she didn't meet his eyes as she pushed past him through the flap. "I'm going back," she explained as Tom followed her, asking what was wrong. "To the trenches. They're sending me back."

"When-"

"They've given me five minutes," she cut him off, shoving things into the kit bag – a spare pair of putties, the boot polish, then more assorted things that she probably wouldn't live long enough to use.

"Is Miles still in theatre?" she asked, suddenly meeting his eyes. Her voice was thick with the concentration of keeping herself together.

"Yes," Tom answered quietly, and for a moment they were both silent before she turned her eyes away, brushing past him again.

"That's – I suppose that'll make it easier." She swallowed a choke, convincing herself that Miles would understand. "Tell him I'll be fine. I'm going back to John, he'll look after me." They both knew it wasn't true, but neither said it. "And tell him…" she trailed off. There was so much she wanted to say, and yet she never wanted to have to.

There was a shout from outside the tent.

"I'll pass the message on," Tom promised, even though she'd never finished it. His smile was almost real.

Jo put a hand on his shoulder. Her fingers were digging into his back but he didn't complain. "I'm really going to miss…" she stopped talking as a sob threatened to escape.

Tom's eyes were bright as he met her gaze. "Keep your head down, Jo Coleman."

Jo forced herself to grin back, "don't worry, no one's going to get me on the wire." She pinched his cheek, perhaps a little too hard. "You keep smiling Thomas Gillan."

His laugh was short, but it was there.

"Send me away with a smile," she quoted, letting out a small laugh of her own.

Another shout hurried her along and someone picked up her kit bag and threw it carelessly into the truck. "Get a move on you lot!"

With a sense of finality, Jo patted Tom's shoulder once more, turning to the squad forming and took her place in the ranks. She could see him watching, his face subdued before he turned and walked away.

Orders were shouted and Jo turned with the squad as they began to file into the waiting truck. It was only when she grabbed the cool rail in her hand that she realised what she was doing and panic started to twist her stomach; she couldn't leave like this without seeing Miles. How could she even have thought that would work? She tried to turn back but she was pushed forwards by the flow of men until she was sat on the low bench. Still she craned her head to where she could see the tents. A few nurses stood there waving their encouragement to the men.

The engine revved and Jo tried to stand up – she had to see Miles one last time – but the corporal yelled at her to sit. The truck lurched and she fell back into her seat, her chest tight. This was it. She was leaving. A sudden movement caught her eyes and, ignoring the shout of the corporal, she pushed her way to the very back of the truck. Miles was running towards them and she felt her heart split in two; he was there. She wanted nothing more than to run to him, to run into his arms and never leave. But the truck was rolling in the wrong direction. All she could do was watch as Tom sprinted up behind him and grabbed his shoulders, no doubt trying to calm him down. Miles tore the apron from his front, throwing it – for the sake of throwing anything – onto the ground. Jo's eyes stung as she watched the ever shrinking figures of him and Tom stood side by side at the gate, Tom's arms holding him as they faded into the distance.

She felt tears running down her chin but she wiped them away, pretending they weren't there, in the way the rest of the men pretended they didn't see them.

**..**

**Tu ****l'as ****aimé ?**

**As always please let me know what you think‼ Reviews make me very happy!  
Oh and just to clarify in case anyone was wondering – a short arm inspection is a medical check-up for VD ;) **

**I would love to say that chapter three will be up soon, because it's full of Kitmas…. But I'm afraid that it would take a miracle for me to get that uploaded before I fly out. Sorry! **

**If I can I'll get it finished, and then my friend may be able to upload it for me. But no promises.**

**I'll be back on the 18th August… and I promise the rest will be uploaded in the next two weeks after that‼  
Adieu mes amies! **


	3. August 1918

**I'm finally home after an absolutely amazing month! And then I followed China and Mongolia up with a week of archaeology at Silchester (you can read all about it on the BBC news page if you're interested - not that 'm just trying to promote it or anything...)  
But I know that's not what you all care about... and don't worry, it may have been over a month, but never fear, chapter three is here! (un beta'd though, so apologies for any mistakes)  
**

**There's not much else to say to introduce this, so I won't.**

**Enjoy!**

**...**

_1st August 1918. 1718 hrs._

Miles stood at the gate long after the truck had rolled out of sight. Tom was still holding his shoulders, though it was more for comfort now than restraint.

"Come on," Tom urged him gently. "I think you need a drink." He steered Miles towards their tent and after pushing him down to sit on the bed her found a full hip flask in one of the draws and held it out to Miles.

The man didn't move and Tom sighed, trying hard to be patient, and pressed the flask into Miles' palm before sitting down next to him. Miles' movements were stiff as he raised the drink and swallowed, letting the burn of the whiskey run down his throat. He took another gulp, and then another, and then another until Tom hurriedly prised the quickly emptying flask from his fingers. "That's probably enough."

Miles barely responded; he just sat motionless staring across the tent. Tom rested his hand on his friend's shoulder; he didn't know how to respond to this lifeless Miles who just blinked repeatedly as the world began to sway.

He felt- well he didn't know what he felt. He wanted to curl up and cry, and he wanted to punch something. Or rather someone. He wanted to run to the Colonel and beg to be posted with her, and he would have done if the world hadn't been spinning so much that he could no longer remember how to walk out of a tent.

His head dropped to one side as if it had suddenly become too heavy. His cheek was pressing heavily into Tom's shoulder. "I never said goodbye," he slurred dribbling down Tom's jacket. "How could I not have said goodbye?"

Tom sighed slightly eying the puddle of dribble accumulating on his shoulder. That was definitely going to stain. He knew he shouldn't be worrying about his uniform; Miles needed him, but what could he say? He couldn't bring Jo back. He was feeling guilty; the second that Jo told him she was leaving he should have run and got Miles. But he hadn't.

"I never told her…" Miles slurred quietly into Tom's shoulder, burring his head further in the crook of his neck. "I love her."

Tom was quiet. He'd never quite been sure what was going on with the two of them, he just could never imagine either of them being serious for long enough to actually have any sort of meaningful relationship.

But he knew Miles, and he knew that he meant what he was saying. However drunk he was.

"I know-" Tom began, but he was cut off by Miles who'd found a sudden energy.

"No!" He was almost shouting. "You don't know! How can you know? Kitty is here! And she's safe!" His voice was shaking, and so were his legs as he tried to stand. "How would you feel if Kitty was sent out to bring the men back on stretchers from no man's land?" His voice caught with a hiccup which turned into a sob. "If she was perhaps she could bring me back Jo."

His shouts dissipated into a cry and he fell into Tom, who awkwardly wrapped his arms around his friend.

"She'll be fine," Tom told him, wishing he believed the words he was saying. "She survived before, she'll survive again."

Miles didn't respond.

..

1750 hrs.

Miles had fallen asleep – or into a drink induced coma, Tom wasn't sure – lying against his friend's shoulder, so Tom had heaved the man onto the bed and made sure he was as comfortable as possible as Miles curled in on himself.

Tom left the tent as quietly as he could, raising his eyes to the sun beating down with ironic beauty. Taking a deep breath he turned towards the wards. Kitty technically had another hour on duty, but there were only a few patients who needed any care. They were all just waiting for the trucks to arrive to take them to the ports.

Despite the empty wards it took him nearly five minutes to locate Kitty who he found sat next to one of the low beds, talking quietly to the private occupying it. She looked up as he approached, a smile spreading across her cheeks. A small frown knitted between her eyebrows as she saw the sullen look on his face. "Are you alright?"

"Jo's been sent back to the front." Tom replied bluntly, pulling a chair away from the nurse's desk and slumping into it. "Just like that," he clicked his fingers. "She's gone."

Kitty's hands flicked to her face, ignoring the man she'd been tending to completely. "She's gone?"

Tom pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes then glanced up at her composing himself. "Sorry, that wasn't fair. I didn't think about how to say that. It just came as a shock."

Kitty wrapped her arms around her waist. "Oh," she said quietly, and for a moment she was still, before standing up and walking away, dragging Tom with her ignoring the muffled protest from the private.

Tom engulfed her in her arms, holding her tight as she buried her head into his shoulder. "She's really gone?" Kitty asked, her voice muffled by Tom's jacket.

"I'm sorry," Tom whispered, cradling her in his arms. "She asked me to say goodbye to you."

Kitty just tightened her grip around him. "She'll be alright, won't she," kitty asked, her tone more of determination that questioning.

Tom didn't reply as he pressed his lips against hers, just lightly, offering as much comfort to both of them as he could. They both knew the death toll from the front, but for now they were both going to pretend they didn't. It was easier that way.

…

5th August. 1543 hrs.

"Keep your bloody heads down!"

Jo clenched her jaw at the sergeant's yelling as she pressed her feet into the dry mud, pulling herself forward through the trench. She shifted the strap of her rifle, holding it away from her side so that it didn't hit against the scars on her hip with every step. And every step she took led her further towards the guns which were growing steadily louder.

The men around her were growing jittery as the explosions became impossible to ignore. Only the sergeant seemed to have any enthusiasm left as he hollered at them. The men struggled on with shaking hands, but then someone started singing. Quietly at first, but then the men around him joined in, and their voices rose above the sergeant's shouts. It wasn't long before everyone was singing with a forced juvenile enthusiasm.

_Private Perks…_

Their song blocked out the guns, the whizz-bangs and each man found it easier to turn their heads away from the lines of casualties that traipsed dejectedly past them towards the ambulance carts.

Jo was the only one not singing, her eyes lingering on the red crosses scrawled hastily on the sides. She couldn't help but think of Miles, and what he was doing. Was he missing her?

She shook her head, settling her eyes on the back of the head in front of her. There was no point in dwelling on the past, it may have only been five days ago but it felt like a lifetime ago. No more days lazing around in his arms, now it was just mud and guns and blood. Jo swallowed, keeping her mouth closed as they sung around her. She didn't feel like singing. Not without him.

…

22th October 1918

Kitty was sat on the cliff face with her bare feet dangling over the edge. The wind raced across the beach and whipped at her hair while she waited.

Sunlight glinted across the water casting gems of light up to where Kitty was sat, it was beautiful, but it wasn't the sea Kitty had come for. She had been meant to meet Tom here nearly half an hour ago, but he was still arguing with Yellend about being reposted to another hospital. It wasn't that he was arguing with the orders, if anything he'd been waiting for them, it was just that the two men simply couldn't be in the same room without fighting.

She let her eyes fall back to the beach, watching the waves roll into the sand before slipping quietly away back into the mass of water.

As she watched a small khaki figure appeared from the trees onto the beach. She felt herself grinning as she kicked her feet lazily enjoying the wind rushing along her skin.

The figure on the beach glanced around and she laughed as she saw Tom's shoulders drop as he realised where she was. And more to the point how much further he had to walk to get to her. He began to move towards the cliff and disappeared from view as he started the climb.

It was a few minutes later when Tom finally scrambled up to where Kitty was sat, breathing heavily as he rolled onto his back next to her.

"You couldn't have been sat on the beach could you?" He complained as he tried to catch his breath. "That's practically a vertical climb!"

Kitty buried her face in her hands as she laughed. "There's another path, you idiot."

Tom lifted his head to where Kitty was pointing; there was a sloping path that cut gently up the cliff. He groaned, dropping his head back to the ground as he laughed with her.

Kitty pulled her feet away from the edge, and twisted herself so that her torso was hovering over his. She didn't say anything else before she leant down and kissed him, just softly, her lips chastely brushing over his before she sat up again and he followed, sliding an arm over her shoulder as he shuffled forwards so that they were sat alongside each other.

"When are you leaving?" Kitty asked nestling her head into his shoulder.

"Two days," he replied. "Apparently I'm replacing someone who thought waving to Fritz would be a good idea."

Kitty just pulled at his waist as she curled her knees up so that she was effectively sat in his lap.

He picked up her hand, the one with his ring on it toying with the metal around her finger. She'd stopped hiding it when Jo had been sent to the front. "I know we said we'd wait until this was over, but," he swallowed. "But I'm leaving and-"

Kitty stopped him with a finger on his lips. "Then I will write to you every day and the second this war is over we will find each other, we will get on a boat to England," she was talking quietly as she created the story of their future in the same way she used to tell Sylvie stories about her dragon. "We'll be welcomed as heroes," she continued, "And you'll have to fight off all the pretty girls who want the gallant army doctor for their own," she was giggling slightly as she spoke. "And you'll have to begrudgingly tell them all that you're already pledged to this annoying old woman."

Tom's face split into a broad grin, his eyes shining with his laughter. "If she's that annoying, why don't I leave her for one of the prettier girls?" He asked, cocking his head to the side questioningly.

"I don't know," Kitty replied musingly, tipping her head back to meet his gaze. Her eyes were shining in the light. "You must be insane."

He hummed in agreement. "I must be." He bent his neck, catching her mouth into a strong kiss. "I love you Katherine Trevelyan."

Her reply was lost to the back of his throat.

.  
They walked hand in hand through the woods on their way back to the hospital.

"How's Miles?" Kitty asked all of a sudden.

Tom's voice caught for a moment, surprised at the question, and then he answered as he'd answered every time. "He's fine."

"Is he really?" Kitty questioned. It was true that he was acting the same as he always did, but perhaps it was just that she knew what he was going through, but something about him seemed so much less… Miles. He was still friendly, but he never flirted anymore, and he never hit golf balls into the sky at midnight. So either he'd finally decided to listen to everything the Colonel and matron had painstakingly tried to make him, or he wasn't as fine as he was trying to seem.

"No," Tom answered truthfully. "But he's doing a good job pretending he is."

Kitty nodded, there wasn't anything she could say to that so she just gripped Tom's hand a little tighter and walked a little closer to him.

Tom felt Kitty move further into his side and he rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. Miles' words in the tent were still resonating around his head. He couldn't contemplate what he would do if Kitty was sent to the front, it would be hard enough in two days when he was moved to another hospital and he would know that she was still safe here. And he also knew that it wouldn't be long till she would be joining him, luxuries that Miles was never given.

..

24th October. 0600 hrs.

Tom's case was thrown into the back of the tuck and he stood to the side, his arms wrapped firmly around Kitty. He didn't want to let her go. A small part of him knew he was being stupid, the nurses were being posted to the same hospital in just a few days – they'd hardly be apart long – but he still didn't want to leave her.

"You'll have to walk if you don't leave soon," Kitty teased, pressing a kiss to his chin. Her lips peppered across his jaw, nipping at the rough skin. "And it's far too early to walk."

Tom blinked blearily, scrunching up his face in an attempt to bring some life to his features. "It's too early for anything."

Kitty laughed gently as she straightened his lapels, resting her hands on his chest. "I'll see you in a few days."

With a smile Tom darted forwards and pressed his lips against Kitty's, laughing as she hit him in the chest. "You thief!" She was grinning as he clambered up into the truck. "I love you!"

He leant down over the rail and pressed his lips to hers again. "I love you too."

**...**

**Review as always please :) I love hearing from you all. If there's anything you want in the next few chapters let me know and I'll see what I can do. I have a basic plan for the rest, but I'm always happy to include what you want :) **

**sockitysocks**


	4. 24th October 1518 hrs

**hello again! **

**Here be quite a short chapter 4, but I like it how it is and didn't want to ruin it by adding anything else. I hope you like it! **

**..**

24th October 1518 hrs.

The gunshot ran around Jo's head, echoing and twisting with the velocity of the blood pumping through her ears. She would have gasped if she'd had enough breath in her lungs- her heart was still beating. She was alive.

With an enormous effort she managed to lift her head, ignoring the way the world lurched violently as she did. Her tired eyes fell on the body of the German, the blood sitting his chest had stilled, no longer being disturbed by the pathetic attempts of his heart to live. Then Jo noticed the addition of a circle of blood pooling in the centre of his forehead – he'd been the one the German had shot, he hadn't been telling them to kill her, he'd been begging the German to end his life, andhis wish had been granted.

Jo felt her body begin to shake with relief, she'd been waiting for death and the pure relief when it hadn't come was unimaginable. With a newfound determination she rolled herself towards the German, it took her nearly three minutes to drag herself the meter gap between them, but she managed. Her shaking hands reached him, wrenching the hip flask from his belt and she greedily drank it down. The water tasted so sweet on her tongue, and it was only her fear that this was the last water she would find that stopped her drinking all of it. With shuddering fingers she shoved it deep into a pocket- if she had water, she had a chance.

More dirt was thrown up into the crater, lots of it; Jo had to force herself to scramble back up the sides to avoid being buried by it. The pain of moving made her want to throw upand she was thinly grateful that she had nothing left in her stomach. Fighting through the pain, she managed to prop herself up, wedging one foot against a rusty wheel to stop her sliding back down into the pit.

As soon as the bombardment quietened she would leave and she'd crawl back to the trenches. If she'd managed to crawl here there was no reason why she wouldn't be able to crawl back, she had to be determined. It was all she had left.

She lay there for hours of hate, drifting in and out of consciousness as machine gun fire rang out above her. The bombardment was relentless.

Another shell hit, sounding right above her head, and she was caked in the turned up mud as it tumbled down to where it was already beginning to bury the German. She heard a boyish yell and all of a sudden two figures seemed to leap from the sky, sliding down the steep slides, their boots leavingdeep crevices through the mud.

"Bloody hell, the Bosch are giving it a good go!" One of them shouted, ducking his head as more rubble cascaded into thecrater. Jo could hear the sound of it bouncing from their tin helmets. She vaguely wondered when she had lost hers.

"Sgt, wait I think he's still alive!" A rougher voice sounded, followed by the scratching of gumboots across earth as he scrambled to where Jo was lying. "Sgt, he's breathing!"

Jo managed to tip her head to one side, her eyes swivelling wildly as she caught hold of his arm. "Get me out," was all she managed to whisper.

She felt the cool rim of a bottle against her lips, and fresh water was helped down her throat. "We'll get you back to dear old Blighty, don't you worry son," the sergeant's voice soothed and she felt arms picking her up. Someone's handssheltered her head, and then she felt every bone in her body jolting as the person carrying her began to run.

It was only then, as she was held tightly that she felt safe enough to let the darkness overtake her, and she slipped back into a welcomed, pain free unconsciousness.

.

1930 hrs.

Tom dropped his case onto the empty bed, the light was just beginning to fade, a full moon replacing the sun. He sat heavily on the bed staring at the immaculately kept tent, he hadn't met the other surgeon yet – he was busy with patients and Tom wasn't supposed to be starting on the wards until morning.

It was half past seven. He sighed and lay back onto the mattress, not even bothering to remove his boots. The only consolation was that in six days Kitty – and a few other nurses – would be joining him, and another eleven days and Miles would be posted here too.

If he was honest, he hadn't understood the need to stagger their arrivals; if they needed the help as much as it seemed they did, surely it would have made sense for them all to arrive as one. He blew a breath out through his lips and stretched his arms above his head; the arduous journey in the back of the truck had left him restless. He rolled himself off the bed, deciding that if he wasn't allowed to be working with patients he would at least get some fresh air.

Despite the last convoy of patients arriving hours before he did, the hospital still wasn't quiet. He'd grown accustomed to the sudden hive of activity followed by the stillness as each man fell into their drug induced sleep, and those who were going west were visited by the padre, the devil dodger as he'd heard some of the man saying. Eventually everyone was resting, but that wasn't the case here. There were barracks here, officers tents erected within the ruins of farm houses, and dirt roads leading to rest camps, the bodies of the men waiting to be sent there were laid out in rows behind stone walls that seemed to once have been a church.

If he stood atop a pile of dirt, he could see the flickering lights from the trenches. It was almost surreal, he'd been able to see the smoke filling the sky over Ypres from the hospital, but now he could see the flashes of light as the daisy cutters exploded, and he thought – though he wasn't certain – that he could see the tiny shining light from a cigarette, carelessly lit with all the likelihood of drawing crabs. Even as he watched he saw a larger flash of light engulf the smaller one, and when it died down both were gone.

It was as he was stood there, watching the lights dance and deplete that he spotted the movement of two figures, a third carried between them. He knew his orders had been to rest this evening, but there wasn't another doctor around, and he wouldn't have known who to fetch even if the idea had crossed his mind. They must have spotted him, for their pace picked up as he approached and they almost dropped the body at his feet in their haste.

"We found him, in no man's land," one of them – a sergeant – panted. "He must have been there for hours, is there anything you can do for him?"

Tom kneeled next to the man, so caked in mud and blood that his face was completely obscured. The man was barely breathing, and Tom recognised the rattling breath from gas. He pressed two fingers into the man's neck, his pulse was sporadic and so weak that even in the seconds that Tom waited for he could feel the life leaving the man.

He closed his eyes for a moment; there was nothing more for this man. He felt his chest tighten; he always refused to give up on a patient, but what could he do? Once a man was in that state they never wanted to recover, he'd seen it before. It was always their eyes that died first, and he didn't want to watch it again. Tom shook his head slowly as he pulled the cold meat ticket from the man's neck. "Put him with the others," he told them monotonously.

They nodded, lifting the lifeless corpse between them Tom rolled the identity tag between his fingers as his eyes followed the limp body being carried away.

**..**

**voila! Jo isn't dead! Yet. **

**I guess that thats better than nothing ;)**

**reviews are always welcome! **


	5. 24th October 1935 hrs

**Chapter the fifth! (again quite a short chapter, but I hope you like it all the same)**

**As always, my coursework has been thrown to the side and this has taken dominance!**

**The next few chapters should be up very soon, though I've changed my mind about where the story was going and I'm now running out of time till the end of the war... these fixed dates eh? what can I do ;)**

**anyhoo... enjoy!**

**..**

_24th October 1935 hrs_

"Wait!"

Tom's shout seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised the men carrying the body. But he'd promised himself at the start of this war that he wasn't going to let a single man die if there was _anything_ he could to prevent it – and he wasn't about to break that promise.

"Take him to the ward!" he ordered.

They hesitated.

"NOW!"

.

The world was spinning as Jo tried to open her eyes; it felt as though she was being thrown around although someone was holding her shoulders.

She wanted to be sick, and perhaps she was for the weight pressing down on her lungs suddenly shifted.

.

Tom held the man's head as he vomited, his breathing sounded less laboured by the second. He was still fighting the side effects of the gas, but what was important was that he was fighting.

The man collapsed back against the bed and Tom moved his fingers to the man's neck, pulling the fabric away to let him breathe. Blood was soaked across the undershirt, so much which – if it all belonged to this man – would prove fatal alone.

He gritted his teeth, willing for the flood to be someone else's. Tom yanked his shirt off and then his hands froze on the material. For he could see a familiar smattering of red puckered scars littering the man's stomach.

It was impossible, surely. His fingers closed around the metal tag he had shoved in his pocket and drew it out, letting the light of the lanterns reflect between the streaks of mud, illuminating the name.

.

Jo felt more pressure falling from her neck and her breaths were coming more easily, and with every breath her head cleared a little more. Perhaps this was what dying felt like. The pain seemed to fall from her body and when she managed to open her eyes, the world was still. Something that seemed to be light spread across a face, a face that for some reason was quite familiar. Perhaps it was an angel. But angels were supposed to be dressed in white, and they weren't supposed to be looking worried.

This man didn't make a very good angel.

Her throat stung as if she was saying something, though she wasn't aware of trying to speak.

.

Tom's fingers wrapped around the chain of the tag and rubbed the heel of his hand across the metal. The imprinted letters refused to let go of the mud which only made the contrast bigger as the pale light reflected off the cleaner silver.

The tag fell through his fingers landing on the muddied floor as he grabbed hold of the muddy hand; the name still glinted up at him from the floor. _Joseph Coleman. _Tom gripped her shoulders a little tighter. "Jo?"

Her eyes flicked open slightly, floating around until they came to rest on him. Her mouth opened and he could hear her struggling to speak.

"You're the ugliest angel I've ever seen."

A smile started to spread across his face. That was the Jo he knew. He grabbed a cloth and gently wiped away the mud from her face as her eyes slid shut again, exhausted from the effort of insulting him.

He shushed her gently, smoothing the matted hair around her thin face as her head twisted around as if she was looking for someone she couldn't find.

"Miles will be here in a few days," Tom told her pointlessly; he knew that she wasn't even aware of where she was or who he was. "No doubt he'll sit here until you've got enough energy to tell him to go away."

Jo's eyes fixed on his face holding no recognition as to who he was. Tom fell silent focusing on taking care of her. It was going to be a long struggle, but he was going to make sure Jo was alright.

…

_29th October 1342 hrs_

Jo was running. At least she was trying to. The mud in no man's land sucked at her feet dragging her back and when she tried to pull herself free she realised it was arms pulling at her feet, arms reaching out of the ground catching her legs, and the longer she struggled against them she realised they were the arms of the German – the one that had been shot in the head. His heart beat furiously where it hung in his open ribcage. She tried to scream but no sound came from her mouth as he climbed further from the mud, blood dripping from his open mouth as he reached out a hand towards her. The bullet hole in his head seemed to glow, and it drew her in to the blackness inside his skull and she felt herself falling.

Light suddenly burned into her eyes and her whole body ached with the unfamiliar breaths she was taking. She coughed trying to sit up but hands pressed down on her shoulders as she tried to roll herself to the side, a shadow fell across her face replacing the blinding light with a cold blackness. She tried to turn her head, favouring the light over the dark; everything had been so dark for so long.

"Jo! Jo, can you hear me?"

She blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting slowly to the shadow. A face slowly swirled into her vision and she blinked a few more times, waiting for the face to stop spinning. There was something strangely familiar about it, but she couldn't quite concentrate long enough to think why.

"Jo!"

There was something familiar about the voice too, heavily accented. A name was sitting on the edge of her tongue… but why was it even important? She could just go back to sleep, that would be easier. It wouldn't matter who this person was, or why they were yelling at her.

"You're a bloody bastard."

Jo's eyes swivelled back to the face and after blinking several more times the features swum together making the worried face of Thomas Gillian. She stopped blinking, staring at his face before she slowly felt the corners of her mouth twisting into an attempt of a smile, but as with her recognition, something wallowed in a pit at the back of her mind. The image from her dream, the German's dying pleas, the mud and the blood… she felt her eyes stinging with the tears she had been too exhausted to cry.

She coughed out a sob and Tom lifted her against his chest letting her bury her face into his shoulder, seeking all the comfort she could. He shifted awkwardly under her weight, sitting on the edge of the bed as she curled further into him, unable to support herself. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders letting her cry out the tears that he knew she needed to cry.

He waited until she stopped shaking, and then she rested her head on his collarbone. "Thank you." She paused a moment. "Though there's no need to be rude." She sniffed haughtily. At least she tried to.

Tom just grinned. "It's good to have you back."

The drying tears cracked across her face as she smiled, the faintest of laughs passing her lips, her typical grin making its way back onto her face.

Tom felt his worry fall from his face and a huge grin planted itself on his face as he laughed in relief, a gas attack and hours of lying in a crater hadn't damaged her relentless grin. He couldn't keep the smile from his face; a small part of him still couldn't believe she was awake, after five days without so much as a twitch of her eyelids he had been beginning to lose hope. "Most people would say 'thank you for saving my life, you amazingly talented and handsome surgeon'," he grinned as he pressed his palm across her forehead, feeling her temperature. It was normal.

Jo pulled a face. "That doesn't sound like me," she coughed as her voice caught in her throat.

With the smile still plastered on his face Tom held the back of her neck as he helped her take a sip of water. "Take it easy," he soothed as she spluttered for a moment before managing to drink calmly.

"Where are we?" Jo's voice was still shaking as she asked, but she sounded so much stronger.

"About ten miles from the front line," Tom answered with a grin. "Good thing I found you when I did."

Jo was nodding despite not listening to the words, her eyes meeting his for a second before she shifted dropping contact.

Tom found himself laughing again. "He'll be here in a few days."

Her face fell slightly. "So he isn't here at the moment?"

It was impossible not to laugh at her pitiful expression. "If he was he wouldn't have left the side of this bed until you had enough energy to tell him to bugger off and go annoy someone else."

Jo too let out a small laugh. "You promise he'll be here soon?"

"I promise," Tom rolled his eyes.

Jo could feel her eyes closing as she let herself relax into the bed. "Where's Kitty?" she asked, barely awake.

Tom shook his head, "she's coming tomorrow," he was going to say something else, but he could see that Jo was struggling to keep her eyes open. "You get some rest," he smiled fondly.

"Tell Miles to hurry up," Jo mumbled into the pillow.

"I'll be sure to tell him," Tom reassured her with a smile she didn't see. "He'll be here as soon as he can."

Jo hummed as happily as she could manage. "How is he?"

"He's fine," Tom grinned patting her shoulder, "now you really should get some rest."

Jo settled her head down again, and then just as Tom thought she'd finally gone to sleep she turned her head to look at him. "Why is my shirt so big?"

It was so typical of Jo to focus on the important matters, like how her shirt was too big. He was grinning as he answered. "Because it's my shirt," he told her. "I had to put you in _something_," he raised his eyebrows slightly, "I'm sure the other men wouldn't complain, but…" he left the sentence hanging with a smile.

If she'd had the energy she would have punched him. "Miles will punch you for me when he gets here," she grinned at him from the bed.

"Jo, as much as you love him, the man has no muscle on him whatsoever," Tom pointed out poking her in the shoulder, his other patients forgotten. "He's pathetic and you know it."

"Oh really?" Jo pushed herself up onto her elbows then she tilted her head to the side. "Yeah, okay. You have a point."

Tom laughed, folding his arms across his chest. "He'll be heartbroken to hear that," he grinned. "Almost more than when you left."

Jo's smile fell from her face, "he was heartbroken?"

"No?" Tom winced as he realised what he'd said. "That came out wrong."

"Is he okay?" She levelled her eyes on him, at least she tried to but her head wasn't really staying where she wanted it to.

Tom gently pushed her down back onto the bed. "He's fine Jo, now get some sleep."

"No, you said he was heartbroken." Jo insisted, her words slurring together. "Where is he?"

"Coming," Tom replied with a smile. "He's coming." He pressed a light kiss to her forehead then slightly awkwardly he stood up thankful that no one seemed to have noticed that he'd just kissed his patient. He just shook his head, unable to stop smiling. Jo was back, and she was going to pull through. He was certain.

**..**

**And I feel it's time to say thank you to everyone who has been reviewing! It really makes me happy when you do!  
And to the guest reviewer who left me the insightful comment about sporks, I think you're really onto something there. I'll definitely take that into account ;)**

**I do feel that I should say thanks to Becky, whoever you are. I don't think there's a single chapter of any of my Jiles fics that you haven't reviewed, and I really appreciate your encouragement :)**

**That's all from me really, see ya later folks!**


	6. 1st November 1918

**Chapter six arriveth !**

**I've written and re-written then changed the order and then added a load then re-re-written this chapter so many times I've lost track of what I was trying to do with it... but I think it all makes sense now. (please let me know if you spot anything that doesn't fit - it may be that I cut something important out and haven't noticed because it's still there in my head... if that makes sense...)**

***gives up* enjoy!**

**..**

_1st November 0634 hrs._

"Do you have to go?"

Kitty laughed at Miles' whine as she took his hand, helping her into the back of the truck. "You know I have to, and you know that it won't be long until you're posted there too."

Miles grinned a slightly forced smile. "I still think its jolly rotten of you and Tom to both leave me." He reluctantly passed her the bag she'd been carrying. "I hope you both feel guilty."

"Awfully guilty," Kitty replied with no sincerity whatsoever pressing a kiss to his cheek before he stepped back from the truck to wave her off.

Behind his cheerful façade he swallowed down the lump in his throat as the last of his friends drove out of sight. He could still see the truck – the first one – throbbing behind his eyes as it took Jo away. He sighed heavily turning back to the emptying hospital. There was practically nothing left, just a smattering of unoccupied tents and empty wards. It was true that it wouldn't be long until he joined Kitty and Tom, but for now he was alone.

He should have run faster, she should have got to her in time.  
But he hadn't.

Tom had, of course told him what happened. But he should have been there. For God's sake he would have exchanged his safe hospital job for a muddy trench if it had meant Jo wouldn't have had to go alone.

But he hadn't been given the choice. He had to stay here, not knowing what was happening to her. He was a doctor, he'd seen men coming back from the front, and he knew exactly what could happen.

He felt sick at the thought.

He scrunched his eyes up taking deep breaths. There was no point dwelling on that, he just had to believe that she would be alright. She would. She had to make it.

..

_1345 hrs._

Roland sighed, staring out at the November rain falling on the last few remaining tents of the hospital. He couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the sight of his hospital being dismantled. Yes, he understood that the fighting had moved, they were no longer on the front line and consequently they didn't need them, but he couldn't help the feeling of regret. He'd done his best to make the hospital a place where the men could be cared for, and now there was nothing left of it. The majority of his doctors had been posted weeks ago, and his nurses a few days ago were posted to a hospital along the Somme; all that remained was for the last few scatterings of staff – namely himself, Grace and Captain Hesketh-Thorne.

He hadn't told Foley yet, but according to Yellend he was going to be given a helmet and told to keep his head down.

He dragged his shoulders back and pulled the pile of telegrams towards him. Most were orders he already knew about, but there was one that caught his eye as when he opened it another letter that had been folded inside fell out onto the desk. His hand hovered over the muddy parchment for a moment and then he picked it up, only reading the first few lines before he felt he had read enough. He didn't want to read anymore, and he didn't think he should. He pressed a fist to his lips as he read the formal letter that had come with it, a heavy weight settled in his chest as the words sunk in. He had barely finished reading before he pushed his chair back from the desk and strode out into the rain.

..

Miles was lying on his bed turning the pages of Tarzan between his fingers without so much as glancing at the words on the page. He hadn't even noticed that he was holding the book upside down. He didn't know what to do with himself, he tried to think back to what he did before he'd known Tom or before Kitty had turned up… before Jo. His golf clubs stood abandoned in the corner of the tent – where Tom's bed used to be – but he didn't feel like playing golf.

So he lay there listening to the rain fall, pretending to read until he looked round to see the Colonel pushing the dripping tarpaulin away as he entered.

"Sir!" Miles visibly jumped as he recognised the figure in the doorway.

Roland shook his head telling Miles to stay at ease. "I need to see you."

Miles was quiet for a moment. "You can see me now?" It wasn't really meant to be a question, but he wasn't confident of what it _was_ meant to be.

With a nod Roland turned, "come with me," he ordered as he left without looking back.

It took Miles a moment to process the Colonel's orders, and then he scrambled from the bed hurrying after the man. He finally caught up just as Roland pushed open the door to his office.

"Sir, what is it?" Miles asked, his voice wavering ever so slightly as his brain contemplated all the reasons he could think of as to why the colonel was acting as he was. Whatever it was it wasn't good.

"A letter arrived for you." Roland stood facing the desk, his back to Miles as he gripped the muddied paper in his hand.

Miles visibly paled. "A letter?"

Roland turned around, the letter extended in his hand between them. "I think you should read it," Roland prompted gently.

Reluctantly Miles stretched out a shaking hand to grasp the document. It had the look that paper did when it got wet and dried badly, and it was stained with something that probably used to be blood. With a dreadful curiosity he read the slightly smudged words written in Jo's familiar scribbled handwriting.

_Captain Hesketh-Thorne  
It's funny, I don't even know how to address a letter to you. I suppose I never thought I'd be apart from you long enough for there to be a need._

_Now that I've started this letter I don't know what I wanted to write; I wanted to say that I miss you, but somehow now I've come to put it in a letter it all seems so superficial. Of course I miss you, you know that._

He stopped, looking up at the Colonel with questions all over his face.

"Just," Roland took a breath, "just finish it."

Miles turned his eyes back to the paper, scanning over the words until he came to the last line.

_I guess I'm just writing for something to do while I'm waiting for the whistle. _

That was where the writing stopped. There was no name.

Roland wordlessly handed him a fresh glass of brandy which he tipped down his throat in one swift motion.

It didn't help.

"How…?" His rough voice scratched its way from his chest, as he trailed off unable to finish the question.

"Gas." Roland was trying his hardest to sound comforting, but it was impossible. "No one survived." He hesitated, trying to decide whether he should say anything more. "I was told the letter was found under a body."

Miles' face was blank. So many thoughts were spinning though his head that he couldn't think of anything.

He should have run faster.

Why didn't he run faster?

He turned abruptly and left without saying another word. He didn't even feel the rain.

..

_1st November 1918. 1642 hrs._

A buzz ran down Tom's spine as he heard the low rumbling of an engine steadily approaching the tents. He finished tying the bandage around a man's shoulder and rinsed the dried blood from his hands, drying them on his apron before that was pulled off his front and hung at the end of one of the beds.

He glanced briefly at where Jo was still sleeping sprawled across the bed, before practically running towards the truck he knew was bringing the nurses. To be precise, the truck that was bringing Katherine Trevelyan.

He rounded the corner of the tarpaulin, hopping over the ropes in euphoric excitement. It hadn't even been a week, but he'd have been lying if he were to say he hadn't missed her. As he approached the tuck he caught sight of her, her elegant neck stretched as her eyes were searching for someone. For him.

The smile that crossed her features when she spotted him made his heart swell, and he was certain that his own grin must have matched hers. He stepped up to unlatch the back of the truck, holding his hand out for her to take. Their eyes met in a shared memory of the last time Tom had held out his hand to help Kitty from the back of a truck.

Only this time she didn't refuse him, instead she took his hand and rather than using it to balance her she tugged him closer while a wicked smile played across her face. She didn't hesitate about kissing him, and while Tom certainly seemed surprised he didn't even try to resist. He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her from the truck and all the while never breaking the kiss. Kitty's teeth raked across his lower lip, producing a low growl from his throat.

Neither of them paid any attention to the fact that the other nurses had to help themselves down from the truck tutting at their lack of protocol.

"I've missed you," he murmured when he finally pulled away only to bury his face into her hair, drinking in the feeling of having her in his arms again.

Kitty pressed a light kiss to his shoulder. "I've missed you too." As much as she'd tried not to, she hadn't been able to stop herself from worrying. They were always hearing stories of doctors being sent into the trenches from these hospitals for some reason or other and got pipped themselves.

She wrapped her arms a little tighter around his shoulders wishing she would never have to let him go. But a voice was soon shouting above the noise. "Nurses, if you would kindly follow me we'll get you settled in!"

Kitty dropped her hands from Tom's arms reluctantly. "I suppose I should be following him then," she sighed, making it clear she would have much preferred to stay here in his arms.

"Yes, I suppose you should," Tom grinned, his grip on her waist not relaxing at all. "That is definitely something you should be doing." He still didn't let go.

She laughed, prising his hands away. "I'll only be a moment," she promised. "Then you can show me where I go to get food. I'm starving!"

Tom grinned, finally dropping his hands. "I'll be somewhere on the ward."

"Stop chatting to the doctor, nurse," the man who'd been shouting orders was walking towards them. "You've got things to be doing."

"Chatting?" Kitty questioned a small crease appearing between her eyebrows.

"A charming word derived from the trenches," Tom explained with an amused expression. "I believe it refers to when soldiers sit around talking and burning their chats – lice."

Kitty was staring at him with a strange look of bemused disgust. "You sounded uncannily like Miles when you said that." Then she added, as if in an afterthought. "Also, that is disgusting."

Tom just grinned. "You don't think it'll catch on then?"

"I mean it nurse! Hurry up!"

Kitty gave a small huff as she was hurried along, glancing round to grin at Tom for as long as she could before she was whisked out of sight.

..

It only took a few minutes for the nurses to be shown the ins and outs of the hospital, and finally Kitty was free to go find Tom. Well she wasn't really free – she was working, but the patients had been dealt with and she didn't have anything to do other than watch the men.

She found Tom talking to one of the patients and she sidled up behind him, lightly touching his hand to let him know she was there. He didn't respond instantly, he finished talking to the man on the bed and squeezed the guy's shoulder encouragingly before turning to Kitty. "Come with me?"

Kitty's face broke into a smile and she let him lead her by the hand off the ward into what was effectively a disused store cupboard. As soon as the tarpaulin flap closed behind them Tom turned to her, grabbing her wrists and pinning her against the side of the shelf as he kissed her ferociously.

She leant into him, pressing herself against her chest and when he finally let his fingers slide from her wrists she wrapped her arms round his neck, her hands running through his hair desperate to have every inch of him.

"There's," Tom began but Kitty's mouth was too tempting, so he finally had to pull himself away to try again. "I promised I'd take you to see her as soon as you arrived."

Kitty looked disappointed for a moment, then her curiosity took over. "Who?"

"Someone you'll want to see," Tom promised making no move to actually take her anywhere as he kissed her again, letting her push against him until he found his back up against the taught fabric of the tent.

"Okay," Kitty pulled away from his suddenly, her voice breathy. "I think I know who you're talking about, but if you've given me false hope Thomas…" she let the threat hanging eyeing him seriously.

Tom was breathing heavily as he grinned up at her and pushed himself straighter off the side of the tent. "Come on," he held out his hand to her, then thought about what he was doing and dropped his arm. "No fraternising," he reminded himself with a resigned smile as he caught his breath.

Kitty followed him back to the ward; it was still fairly calm as they made their way through the beds and nobody seemed surprised when Kitty let out an excited squeal and threw her arms around one of the patients.

"You're alive!" Kitty exclaimed, her grin breaking free from each side of her face.

Jo laughed weakly as she hugged her back. "Despite my best efforts."

"You're new aren't you?"

The deep voice made them all jump and Kitty turned to see a Colonel frowning down at her.

"Yes," she replied as haughtily as she ever was. "sir." She added on an afterthought.

"You understand the rules about relations with patients I hope," he raised his eyebrows at Jo.

Kitty wanted to laugh, but she bit her lip looking straight at the Colonel. "He's my brother."

"I see," he turned to Tom, "I suppose that explains why you saved a man who was in line for a rest camp." His face softened slightly. "What you did was a bloody miracle, I'm sure your wife will be proud."

Tom opened his mouth, and then he shut it again. It wasn't worth arguing. "Thank you." His face twitched into a brief smile and the Colonel nodded before walking away.

Kitty sat with wide eyes, not sure which point to challenge first – the fact that Jo had been intended for the grave and Tom had somehow nursed her back, or the fact that the Colonel seemed to think she was his wife.

"I told him Jo was my brother-in-law," Tom explained deciding for her. "There were… some… who thought I was wasting my time on a dead man. I… I mean I knew it was a long shot, but I couldn't give up, so I said we were family." He grinned sheepishly, "I didn't think you'd do the same."

To his relief Kitty just laughed, "It's not an altogether unpleasant thought, being your wife."

Jo pulled a face. "So you find out that I was all but dead, and all you're worried about is why some brass hat thinks that you and your fiancé are already married." She rolled her eyes trying to keep from smiling. "Tells you who your friends are, and they aren't here."

Kitty squeezed her hand, grinning. "I've missed you."

The smile broke through Jo's scowl and she too laughed. "I've been too busy to think about you really…"

"Oh!" Kitty pretended to be offended, "I see, just because you're being shot at doesn't mean you can forget your friends."

It was Tom's turn to roll his eyes as they joked; he really had missed Jo, and he knew Kitty had too. He contemplated writing to Miles to tell him that Jo was alive, but he decided there wouldn't really be a point; the man would be here soon and he'd been managing fine. A few more days wouldn't hurt.

**..**

***peers sheepishly around the side of my laptop* **

**good? bad? I should stop being so mean to Miles?  
as always please let me know what you thought! :)**


	7. 10th Novemeber 1918

**Afternoon mes amies!****How goes things? Here you have the next chapter... can't think of much to say about it, but enjoy!**

**..**

_10__th __November 2000 hrs. __or thereabouts_

Miles' head ached when he woke up, and it ached even more when he remembered why he'd drunk a whole flask of whiskey in one go.

Jo.

Jo was dead.

There had been a letter, and she was dead.

His fingers scratched across his shoulder until they found the puckered skin of the scar, he pressed his fingers into it, embracing the physical pain which brought a momentary relief. He'd taken a bullet for Jo once, and he'd give anything for the chance to do it again.

Eventually he summoned the energy to push himself from the bed and his hands found the neck of a bottle, he wasn't confident to make a guess at what was inside it, but he figured it couldn't do any more harm.

He searched for a moment until he found a glass – although it would be more accurate to say that he tipped over enough tables until one rolled towards him – and he poured a splash of the drink into the bottom of the small glass. Then he frowned at the liquid and filled the glass to the brim. This couldn't be real. This was some nightmare.

Somehow he found himself wandering around the last remaining tents, his eyes fell on the place where Jo's tent had stood and he threw the contents of his glass down his throat before turning and walking away. He hadn't even noticed that it was still raining.

..

Roland sat at his desk, watching the rain dribble down the window pane, and drip from the cracks onto the wooden floor below.

It was a pitiful sight.

The quiet record he had playing came to a stop, and a soft scratching replaced it. With a small sigh he leant across his desk and lifted the needle. But the scratching didn't stop. He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping across the floor and he crossed to the other side of the office pulling the door open.

Miles was sat cross legged on the decking, a glass that was more filled with rainwater than anything else balanced precariously in his grip. "It's fascinating," Miles began as if he had been fully expecting Roland to appear at that moment. "The human body can't survive without a heart, but what I never knew was that in the right conditions life can be prolonged." His words were clear, but his voice thick. His hands shook as he spoke, one nail dragging across the ruts of the wood – the scratching noise. "If the chest is ripped open, the arteries can keep constricting and pumping the blood around the body. I didn't know till I saw it."

Roland was quiet for a moment. He didn't know what to say to that. "Are you drunk?" He asked eventually.

"Not nearly enough," was Miles' response as he took a sip of the rainwater in his glass before frowning at the unexpected taste and dropping it carelessly onto the boards.

Roland flinched slightly, but thankfully the glass didn't break. He sighed gently and crouched down in front of Miles, who lifted his head to look at him with a pitiful expression printed into the creases of his face. Rain dripped from his hair, only adding further to the miserable scene.

"It's pathetic fallacy," Miles stated bluntly. "The rain." Then he added, "As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods."

Roland stared at the man he had come to consider as a son. Drunk as he was he was still quoting Shakespeare. It was strangely heart-breaking.

"Come on," he offered kindly as he took Miles' arms at the elbow pulling the man to his feet. "Let's get you inside."

It took a surprising amount of effort to steer Miles through the door and get him seated in a chair with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was acting like a melancholic toddler; he would pick up something shiny, twirl it around in his fingers for a moment before casting it to the side with a disappointed sigh.

Eventually Roland managed to get him sat still, his fingers dragging at the blanket as he clung to it, bringing his knees up to his chest.

"What do I do?" Miles asked. His voice was barely audible. "When does it stop?"

Roland closed his eyes for a moment, knowing the pain he was feeling. "I'll let you know."

The faintest of smiles ghosted across Miles' features, but it never reached his eyes. "I didn't tell her how much she meant to me, I meant to, but I didn't." He fell silent for a moment staring at his hand, and then his ramblings began again. "I only told her I loved her once, just once, nearly two years ago." He picked at the skin on his finger. "I meant to say it, all the time, she said it, she always did and I didn't say anything. I didn't tell her that I love her."

"She'll remember the one time you did," Roland reassured him gently. "Trust me."

"But I should have said it more," Miles refused to take the comfort. "I never said it." He pulled his hands over his face hoping that if he couldn't see the world everything would go away and leave him alone. It didn't.

"Do you want a game?"

Miles raised his head slowly to see the Colonel holding a set of golf clubs out towards him. He just stared, perhaps it made sense to him, but the continuity was lost on Miles.

"Well?" Roland pushed the clubs closer to him. "You were always saying that one of these days you'd get me playing."

"I thought you said the next time I picked up a golf club I'd need to perform a rather delicate operation on myself to remove said club," Miles eyed him suspiciously, nearly sounding like the Miles Roland knew.

"Well I've changed my mind," Roland declared. "Now do you want a game or not?"

The dim light of the lamps glinted off the silver metal and Miles found himself reaching towards them. His hand closed around the cold handle and he could see Jo grinning as she tried to hit the ball countless times until Tom finally corrected her position and the next ball sailed into the dark vanishing. If it hadn't been for the sound of smashing glass a few seconds later they wouldn't have known where it landed.

"It's been ten days," Roland pointed out gently. "In a few hours we're both getting on a truck and we're going to the front. There are going to be patients that need you, and I need you to put your best foot forward."

Miles knew he was speaking the truth, so somehow he staggered to his feet and clasped his hand around the metal of the club. "Let's play."

.

Roland stood in the last few spatters of rain waiting until the last possible moment to get on the truck. It felt like he was giving up a part of him.

He rubbed the golf ball shaped bruise on his bicep, he couldn't even blame that one on Miles – his shot had rebounded off the metal frame of one of the last beds. Though it had been the first time in a week that he'd seen Miles smile, even it was only a slight crack of the lips that never quite reached his eyes, it was something.

Perhaps it was best for him that they were being moved.

..

_11__th__November. 0500 hrs._

The truck came to a gentle stop and Roland laid a hand on Miles' shoulder to wake the man. He hated to disturb him, in his sleep he had almost looked peaceful but the second his eyes snapped open the pain in them returned. He didn't suppose the hangover helped either.

"We're here," Roland informed him softly as men hurried to greet them.

Miles' eyes tracked slowly around the field they had arrived in. It was more a loading station than a hospital, but it was at least something. He pulled his trench coat tighter across his chest as he stepped blearily from the vehicle, not even thinking to argue when an orderly took his case from the back and carried it towards a low line of tents.

He slowly became aware of someone talking to him and he turned to see a smiling man in a smart uniform. "Captain Hesketh-Thorne I expect?" he asked, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels as he did with an energy that should be made illegal before 10 in the morning. It made Miles' head ache even more that it already was.

He must have taken Miles' silence for confirmation as he continued regardless. "I'll get you settled in, and then I'm to show you to the wards. It seems you have a little while to get settled in before you're up to your elbows with patients." The man let out a small laugh at his joke. He didn't seem to be aware, or if he was he didn't care, that Miles had stopped listening. The man continued talking obliviously as he lead Miles to one of the tents – the one he had seen his case being carried to.

He pulled at the sleeves of his coat until it fell from his shoulders and he cast it carelessly across the only bed in the tent before following the man – he was sure he'd said his name at point – out the open flap and towards the tents that made up the ward. His eyes landed on Tom and his chest lurched as he saw his friend's smiling face, he had that triumphant shine in his eyes that he only had when he'd managed to get a patient out of the likelihood of dying in the next thirty seconds.

Tom's eyes darted around the field, laughing at some joke or other. The contrast of how happy Tom looked only made Miles feel even worse and he pulled his tie away from his throat ducking his head. He'd go find Tom on the ward in a minute or two.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder making him jump ever so slightly. "Do you want me to tell them?"

He turned his head to see Roland standing behind him with a kind smile on his face. It took him a moment to realise what the colonel was asking, and then he shook his head. "No, it's fine."

Brett gave a nod.

Miles just lifted his head slightly looking towards the tents. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. He just walked away following where he saw Tom duck onto the ward ignoring the man who'd offered to show him around; he'd been a doctor for years, he could navigate a hospital by now.

There were two lines of beds, and more patients were laid out on the floor where they had run out of beds. Nurses were hurrying around tending to all the men they could and Miles had to swerve around them to where he could see Tom writing in a clipboard.

As he passed the beds, the heads of the soldiers occupying them turned to him, following his movements around the ward. One of the men caught his eye, but all he could see was Jo's face. He turned his head away and when he looked back one of the nurses was stood between them.

Miles took a shuddering breath and pushed on past keeping his eyes focused on Tom's back. It was only when he was stood at Tom's shoulder that he realised he had no idea whatsoever about what he was actually going to say. Tom was saying something to him, he was smiling, but Miles didn't register the words. There was only one thing he was thinking.

"Jo's dead."

"What?" Tom jolted around, making as if to move down the wards but Miles caught hold of his arm.

"Jo's dead," Miles repeated bluntly. "I got a letter."

Tom's frown changed from one of worry to confusion. He opened his mouth several times, making eye contact with someone over Miles' shoulder before he finally turned his eyes back to Miles, a smile creeping into his cheeks. "What are you talking about?"

"It was gas, I was…" Miles stopped talking as Tom's face split into a smile. "Tom!"

Tom tried to pull the corners of his mouth down but the smile didn't fall from his face. He flicked his eyes over Miles' shoulder again, and then put his hands on his shoulders. "Miles stop, listen to me."

Miles' head rolled to look at Tom, his eyes bright with tears he refused to shed. "Tom, I-"

"Miles shut up before I punch you," Tom was grinning as he pushed on Miles' shoulders turning him around. He gave another push to the small of Miles' back making him stumble towards one of the beds.

His brain vaguely registered Kitty sat there by the side of the bed and she stood up smiling when she saw him. But he wasn't paying attention to her. Now that she'd moved he could see the bed clearly and he could see the patient.

"Jo?"

**..**

**Jiles reunion next! Horray!**

**I managed to fit everything in before the war ended! Literally by a matter of hours, but I did it! Whoop ;)**

**please let me know what you thought, and any improvements are welcome (my beta is currently busy so this is all straight from the dribbles that my mind creates with no editing in between)**

**Next chapter should be up sooonish ;)**


	8. 11th November 1918

**This is saved in my laptop as 'actually chapter 8 not 7' and the next chapter is saved as 'yet more chapter 7 which I suppose means this is actually chapter 9'**

**I think the less said about that the better though... so ONWARDS WITH THE CHAPTER**

**I've just added a new bit nearish the end of this, a bit of Kitmas that I couldn't work into the last chapter, but thought I should post somewhere... so here it is!**

**…**

"Jo?" Miles could barely bring himself to whisper her name.

Her head was tilted to the side and she was curled around herself. He could hear her breaths, laboured and irregular, but she was breathing at least.

Tom planted his hands on his friend's shoulders. "I don't know what you were talking about," he said quietly, grinning widely, "but she's not dead."

"They, they said she'd died." He stammered, leaning heavily on the foot of her bed. "How is she… how… they said they'd gassed…"

Kitty just stroked his arm comfortingly, a small smile on her face as she tried not to laugh at him. "She's fine," she assured him. "But be gentle." She pointed out, her face serious. "And remember we're on a busy ward."

Miles just pushed Kitty to the side and crouched down so his face was level with Jo's and he brushed her hair gently over her ear. Her eyes flicked open and she smiled, her mouth twitching at the corners.

"Hi," her voice was little more than a whisper and still heavy from sleep as she raised a hand to his face stroking his cheek.

He smiled, a tear sliding down his face as he leant closer to her. "Hi," he choked out a laugh.

Jo wiped the tear off his cheek with her thumb and he wrapped his hand around hers pulling her fingers down to his lips ignoring Tom's cough about being in the middle of the ward.

"I've suddenly lost all recollection of what I was going to say," Miles' face twisted into his usual smile blinking back more tears.

Jo laughed through the screen of her tears. "You're still a moron."

"You can't upset me," he grinned back, "I make a personal policy never to be offended by someone who isn't real."

"I'm not real?" Jo raised her eyebrows propping herself up on her elbows.

Miles grinned slyly, "I haven't checked yet," and he leant forward catching her lips in his.

Jo didn't hesitate as she kissed him back, circling her arms around his neck. "You're going to get yourself court-martialled," Jo whispered a warning against his mouth, though she wasn't listening to her own words as she pulled his mouth back to hers.

Tom let out something that was halfway between a sigh and a groan as he dragged himself to his feet and stood blocking the two from the rest of the ward. Thankfully no one was paying any attention to them.

"You," Miles paused between words catching the back of her neck to pull her closer. "Should be taking it," the last word was muffled as Jo dragged his mouth back to hers, "easy," he repeated.

Her mouth cracked into a smile as he pressed more kissed around her lips. "I seem to remember telling you the same after you got shot," she pointed out.

"And I remember ignoring you completely," he admitted rolling his head to the side and kissing her again, then he gently pulled back holding her out at arm's length. He traced his finger along the contours of her face stroking the paled skin where scars littered her cheeks.

"Why are you staring like that?" Jo asked after a while, tracing a finger down the side of Miles' nose.

His dark eyes focused on hers. "Because I thought I'd lost you," he replied his tone soft but for once holding none of its usual gest. "I was told you were dead, and I'd never been able to say goodbye." He could feel tears threatening behind his eyes again. "I honestly thought I was never going to see you again," he flicked his eyes away from her before meeting her eyes again, a deep pain settled in his expression.

Jo didn't reply instantly but pushed the hair off his forehead, before letting her hand rest behind his neck, letting her thumb trail along his jaw. "You thought I'd died?" she asked quietly barely able to imagine what he must have felt. She could remember the blind panic when he had been shot and her hand dropped to his shoulder feeling the slightly puckered skin where the bullet had once been.

"I got the letter, they said…" Miles had to force the words out. "They said it had been found under a body. They said no one survived."

A single tear tracked its way down Jo's face, and she found herself laughing at how ridiculous it was. Jo's throat let out something that was trying to be a sob. Her grip on his hand tightened even more.

"You know I asked to be posted to the front with you," he too was laughing, and although his eyes were dry they were shining with unshed tears. "I suppose it would be more truthful to say I begged."

"I'm glad they didn't let you," Jo whispered truthfully. "When I was lying half dead in that crater, with the Germans standing over me preparing to shoot, all I could think was that I was forever glad that I knew you were safe."

Miles' face paled and Jo winced. "Probably shouldn't have mentioned that," a sheepish grin spread into the corners of her mouth.

"One day, when this bloody war is over I'm going to want an explanation," he forced a smile onto his face, "But I don't think my poor heart could take anymore today."

Jo's hand slid slightly from his shoulder until it rested on his chest, she could feel the steady beats mingled with the rise and fall of his breathing. He looked so beautiful right now.

She curled her fingers around the lapels of his jacket and yanked him forward, catching his lips between hers. Slightly startled he caught hold of her back, pressing his palms against her shoulder blades making her push even closer into him.

Tom just raised his eyebrows with a sigh before turning and walking away. If they both ended up with a court-martial it was their own fault.

..

0618 hrs

"Aren't you supposed to be working?" Jo asked suddenly looking at Miles who was sat on her bed being used as a pillow.

Miles just grinned stroking her hair, "Tom's taking care of it for me. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Jo smiled and curled closer to him, "I should be telling you to get out there and save people's lives," she kissed one of the buttons on his shirt. "But I'm not going to let you. You're mine." She wriggled pulling at his tie.

"Are you sure you're alright there, not helping?" Tom asked as he heaved a crate down the ward to use as a makeshift bed.

"I am a little tired," Miles replied as if he hadn't heard the sarcasm in his friend's voice. "It's exhausting watching you doing all the work."

Tom rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath.

"Go easy on the man Gillian," Roland laughed as he lifted something to serve as a mattress onto the crates. With his sleeves rolled up, and the grin on his face he looked about as un-Colonel like as it was possible to look. "He's probably never been awake so early in his life. The only time he ever dragged himself from his pit at an hour acceptable to the British army was the morning after you'd decided to take on Yellend." Roland grinned. "What was it you said to him? The phrase 'a waste of skin' comes to mind. And I don't think I'll repeat the next bit if you don't mind."

A grin spread across Tom's face, he was under no circumstances proud of that. Only he was.

"Colonel Brett!" Matron came walking into the ward, a smile on her face. At least as close to a smile as she ever came.

"Grace, I didn't know you were here," he almost stammered, wiping his hands down his trousers as she came towards him.

"A telegram came for you," she told him holding her hand out to him.

Roland didn't hesitate but his hand shook slightly as he took the telegram from her. "Thank you." He turned to the paper in his hand and began to read, his expression

"It's over," Roland sounded like he didn't believe his own words as he spoke. "At 6 o'clock this morning discussions were settled for a permanent ceasefire to take place at 11 o'clock today. Germany has surrendered."

Everyone was silent. A strange feeling passed through them and they suddenly felt a distance between them as though they were sat with strangers. They had been united by the war, and in four hours it would be over.

Grace's hand flew to her mouth before she composed herself, pressing her lips back into their usual serious mask. "The men won't heal themselves," she pointed out briskly. "Work continues as normal."

"Of course Matron," Tom nodded correctly. He shoved the mattress into place and then he and Roland went to find other things they could make beds out of.

Grace stood with her arms folded, one eyebrow raised at Miles. "Are you ill, Captain?"

Miles pulled his face into his best expression of complete innocence, "I'll go help them," he grinned pointing after them.

"Thank you," Grace let herself smile as he slid from the bed and caught up with Tom and Roland, slinging his arms over their shoulders. "It's good to see you Jo," she nodded before turning away to her own work.

..

_1100hrs_

Every man and woman who was able to stand was stood in the mess. No one made a sound.

They stood for a minute, remembering everyone who had fallen. Everyone was dressed to their smartest, everyone apart from Jo that is, who was still wearing Tom's shirt – though she had at least bothered to tuck it in over the bandages on her stomach. With them and the linen strip around her chest and the bandages on her waist part of her wondered why she'd bothered to wear a shirt at all.

Jo found herself thinking about John as she leant heavily on Miles' arm, she thought about him, Simon, Ed and Luke, she couldn't help but wonder where they were, the nearest pub probably - or at least a barrel of liquor passing as a pub.

The minute of silence ended with the sound of a bugle, or trumpet – one of them, but still no one spoke.

Among the subdued silence someone suddenly cheered, and as suddenly as his voice rang out the tension was gone.

Kitty flung her arms around Tom's neck, wrapping her legs around his waist as he lifted her off the ground, spinning around in their delight. Kitty caught his face in her hands, holding his head still for long enough to fit her mouth around his. She kissed him as if they were back in the woods, not caring in the least that nearly half the men were whistling at them.

"I can't believe we're going to be going home," Kitty smiled, her mouth stretching round his, then a small frown creased onto her forehead and she pulled away slightly, her hands knitting together behind his neck. "We're going home," she repeated quietly.

Tom stroked a finger down her cheek, "Are you alright?"

Kitty nodded unconvincingly, "now that it's over, I… I don't have anything to go back to, my family want nothing more to do with me, I'm not allowed to see my daughter…" she took a deep breath halting the flow of emotion she could feel bubbling up inside her. "Sorry."

"Hey, come on," Tom kissed her forehead, "If they won't listen to you then that is their loss," he nudged her with his shoulder, "I can't think of anything I want more than to have you as my family."

Kitty allowed a small smile to creep onto her face, "I suppose I don't have an excuse not to marry you anymore," she pretended to sigh.

"It would seem you don't," Tom grinned before brushing his lips across hers. "You'll love the house in Scotland," he was talking quietly, creating the image of their life together. "There's a marvellous fire place that seems to fill the whole of the dining room and you can bring cushions and chairs to curl up next to it, and I can see Sylvie building a den there, but not too close…"

"Sylvie?" Kitty's hand flew to her mouth as tears pricked at her eyes.

Tom nodded, "I've spoken to the Colonel, and he's assured me that his rank gives him the responsibility of ensuring that every serving nurse who risked her life for our country will be allowed custody of her children," he grinned as he quoted Roland's usual formal language, "or something like that anyway. I think he just said 'making sure they're alright."

Kitty blinked away the tears of relief as she threw her arms around his neck. "I love you Thomas."

"I love you too," he smiled, letting her bury her face in his neck.

"Carry on telling me about the house," Kitty whispered.

Tom's smile grew. "There's a porch out at the front where you can sit in the sun, so we can use it maybe twice a year…"

Kitty let out a short laugh, before letting him continue.

"… and my grandfather built a swing there, which takes you right over the edge so you're flying above the grass." He was smiling as he pictured home, and smiling all the more when he thought of Kitty sharing it with him. "It may not be a big house, but there's enough space for Sylvie to have her own room, and although I don't think we could fit one in the house we can paint a dragon on her wall. And the room that we'll share, oh it's beautiful.  
"There's this old bed with drapes from the posts like royalty and from the window you can see for miles across the fields – at least when it's not raining you can – and in the field behind the house there's our old family pony, Vinegar. He's beautifully bad tempered but he'll let you ride him…" he trailed off taking a breath. He didn't think he'd ever said so much to one person in one go.

"You've really thought about this haven't you?" Kitty couldn't hide the undertones of surprise in her voice.

"Of course I've thought about it," Tom circled his thumb on her back, "I want a life with you, Kitty Trevelyan."

Kitty's eyes were shining with the love she was feeling for the man before her; he never failed to say exactly what she needed to hear, and he always surprised her in some wonderful way, and this was without doubt the most wonderful of all.

..

Through the commotion of the celebrations Roland picked his way to where Miles and Jo were stood quietly, for once not causing any disruption of their own.

"I was going to give you these earlier," Roland smiled at Jo holding out a small wad of paper. "But with the news, I thought I'd let you see it out till the end."

Jo smiled quizzically, taking the papers from him. "What are they sir?"

"They're your discharge papers," Roland laid a hand on her shoulder for a moment before moving off.

Jo's eyes were shining as she turned back to Miles. They'd done it, they both had. They'd survived the war.

"I guess that means you're not a soldier anymore," Miles grinned picking up her hand and entwining his fingers with hers, "which is good, because it means no one can arrest me for doing this!"

Barely after he'd finished speaking did he cup her chin in his hand and pull her mouth up to his in a passionate kiss. His teeth grazed against her lips as he peppered rapid kisses against her mouth, with all the fiery determination of a drowning man and she was the only air he could find.

Aware of every pair of eyes turning to them Jo tried to push him away, but he was relentless and every ounce of self-control vanished as his tongue licked across her bottom lip. Her papers were shoved into a pocket, completely forgotten as she pulled at his hips, curling her fingers through the loops on his jacket.

"Everyone's looking at us," Jo panted, every word coming between kisses.

Without so much as looking up Miles asked "Do you want me to stop?" giving no indication that he would even she'd asked him to.

"Nope," Jo popped the 'p' smiling into the kiss.

Roland sighed, laughing to himself about how often he found himself despairing when they were around.

**...**

**So I was going to finish this whole story there... but then more happened, and then my friend punched me for being mean again... so ta-da...**

**don't worry, nothing happens to Jiles... well... nothing that stops Jiles being Jiles... oh I don't know how to explain this, just read it !**

**The next chapter is the last one (though I thought that about chapter 7 originally so who knows) **

**anyhoo... that be all from me! Au revoir!**


	9. 11th November 1453 hrs

**Okeydokey folks, this is it! Chapter the last!**

**It was meant to just be a load of fluff... but that didn't quite work out...  
oh-well, c'est la vie I suppose**

**anyhoo, let me know what you think and enjoy!**

..

11th November 1453 hrs

Men were arriving at the hospital faster than they were leaving, so everywhere was packed. Most were making use of the bar opened up by none other than the padre himself, but there were far from few arriving who needed urgent attention. Just because the war had officially ended it didn't mean they were safe.

Miles ducked out of the tent to catch a breath of fresh air – he hadn't slept since he arrived, and he'd spent what felt like hours explaining to every bloody brass hat that Jo was Josephine. Not the ideal medicine for someone who still had an enormous hangover - he would know, he's a doctor. He leant against one of the wooden beams with a sigh, it wasn't really that much quieter out here. There were still hordes of men marching or driving in, and Miles watched them dragging themselves towards the hospital.

One motley section were marching along the drive, but there were so few men there that it was more of a huddle of refugees from a selection of regiments. As Miles watched one of the men broke rank, running towards the hospital despite the outraged shouts of his lieutenant. He seemed strangely familiar, but Miles couldn't concentrate long enough to place him.

He stood up a little straighter as he realised that the man was running towards him. If he'd been less concerned with his head pulsating with ever heart breath he may have had the sense to prepare himself for the fight.

"What are you doing?"

But he'd barely finished the question before the man was on him - hands grabbed the lapels of Miles' jacket shoving him hard against the beam and his head was smashed into the wood and he tried to pull the man's hands away.

"Fight me!" He was yelling, hitting his fists against Miles' chest. "You let her die! Fight!"

He shoved Miles in the chest again making him stumble back away from him, his sleeve ripping on the beam.

"I'm not going to fight-"

The man's fist connected with Miles' jaw stopping him mid-sentence. "We trusted you!" He was starting to cry as he yelled, "You should have looked after her!"

Miles stumbled back wiping his hand across his face, to see blood smeared on his fingers. He lifted his hands in front of his face to block the blows but the man didn't back off, he pulled harder on Miles' jacket.

"She was yours! We thought you'd look after her!" The man shoved him so hard Miles stumbled back, his back crashing into the ground as the man toppled on top of him. "You let her die!"

Men were piling on top of them, some shouting for the fighting to stop, some taking the opportunity to throw their own punches.

Through the shouts he was sure he could hear the Scottish overtones of Tom shouting. He vaguely pitied the poor blighter at the receiving end of the scot's fury, and the shouts brought him to some sort of reality where he was able to turn the fist away from his face blocking the next few blows until he suddenly felt the weight leave as hands pulled the body from on top of him. "What the HELL is going on here?"

He groaned, rolling to the side and coughing making no attempt to acknowledge Tom. He spat out a mouthful of blood, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He was fairly sure his nose was broken as he coughed again. He felt hands on his shoulders as someone helped him up.

Miles felt Tom's arms wrapping around his chest, either holding him back or trying to keep him upright. Given his lack of enthusiasm for the fight he assumed it must be the latter.

"He killed her!" The man yelled before Miles had even thought about speaking. "He killed her!" He struggled against the orderlies holding him back.

A few people turned to stare at Miles as the man shouted at him, but he didn't have the answers they wanted. His head was swimming, and no longer just from the hangover. Was his nose broken? There was certainly a lot of blood, but it didn't seem to be life threatening.

He tried to focus as he saw Jo, but she looked angry – no she looked terrified. She said something to him, but the words never quite reached him, they seemed to get lost in whatever his brain was marinating in. He wanted to say something but he could barely stand, and then someone was leading him away.

.

11th November 1456 hrs

Jo was sat with her legs hanging over the edge of the bed while Tom was re-dressing the gashes on her side and it was just as he was tying off the bandage that the yelling started.

Tom sighed. "What's to bet Miles is the source of that."

"He's been gone all of three minutes," Jo pointed out laughing. Then she pulled her face into a serious expression. "You're right! He's probably been punched at least six times by now."

There was another yell, and Tom glanced to where people started running. "I should probably see what's happening." He squeezed Jo's shoulder as he walked out, and after deciding she should probably stay in bed she followed.

She padded across the mud realising that she probably should have put her boots on before walking across the hospital. The cold mud oozed between her feet as she pushed through to the commotion. Tom was pulling men away from where two uniforms were rolling on the floor, punches flying.

Jo choked as she saw the familiar mop of dark hair protruding from the mess of limbs. She'd been joking that it was Miles, but she didn't know what to do now. She took a step towards them but Tom pushed her away.

"Don't even think about it," he growled making sure she was behind him as he wrenched the private from Miles.

"What the HELL is going on here?" He yelled as he struggled with the private, dodging the flailing fist that came his way. Two orderlies grabbed hold of the man's shoulders pulling him off the two captains.

Tom wrapped his arms around Miles, pulling him to his feet, but Jo barely registered the blood dripping from his face. She was staring in shock at the man the orderlies were holding down as he yelled.

"He killed her!" The man was half crying as he shouted. "He killed her!" he repeated making everyone turn to stare at Miles, even Jo felt her eyes flick to him as he spat more blood out.

Jo pushed her way into the middle of the circle of men, and despite Tom's resigned sigh she pressed a kiss to Miles' lips ignoring the taste of blood. "Are you alright?"

Miles nodded vaguely and Jo was certain that if Tom wasn't holding him upright he'd have gone straight over. "Get him sorted," she told Tom, her voice emotionless.

"Jo, what are you doing?" Tom's voice had a tone of caution to it.

"Just do it," she growled and with a look that told her not to do anything stupid Tom hoisted Miles up into a better hold and led him away.

She crouched down in front of the man that Tom had pulled away from Miles. "What are you doing?" her voice cracked with the effort of not yelling, she waved a hand telling one of the orderlies to let him go but as soon as he did the man lashed out, throwing a punch at her. She caught his fist but she didn't have the strength to keep him back as he tackled her to the ground.

"He let Jo die!" He was crying more than he was yelling as he punched his fist into the mud by her head. "They all died!" His energy had subsided into quiet sobs as he hung over her. "We were lucky, the five of us, and he broke it when he let her die."

One of the orderlies grabbed his arms again, dragging him away from Jo, but she didn't move for a moment. His words were resonating through her skull. 'They all died.'

"No!" Her shout came as much of a surprise to her as it did to him. "They're not dead! They can't be!"

The man, her closest friend, looked up at her shouts his own grief momentarily halted.

"I don't believe you! I won't believe you!" She grabbed his shoulders. "You listen to me Luke Monroe, they can't be dead!"

If Luke was surprised by the fact she used his name he didn't show it, he just crumpled further in on himself. "There were so many of them, we didn't have a chance," his voice was cracking as he spoke, "Ed was the first," he screwed his face up at the memory, "there was so much blood... Then Simon, he just kept fighting... The gun, he wouldn't leave the gun, it took four bullets, four! I thought he'd died when he was hit in the chest... But by some devil's torment he was sat up, straight back to the gun, and then... The next bullet... His throat..." Luke's sentences were barely coherent, but he couldn't seem to stop. "It was just me and John, and I thought... I thought we might make it... They called for retreat... We couldn't get all the men away without cover and John… John… he was the one who... He didn't leave the gun. He'd been told his sister… that Jo had died, he didn't care anymore." Luke let out another strangled cry. "I tried to stay with him, I wouldn't leave him... He pushed me back... Pushed me away, he was shouting, he… the other men were dragging me off... I couldn't... There was nothing I could do."

The crowd that had been gathered begun to disperse, none of them wanted to intrude on this man's hell, even the orderly holding Luke back had stepped away as Luke's head slumped into his hand as though the memories were physically heavy.

"They called it a heroic death!" He let out a bark of laughter that held nothing but disdain. "What fucking difference does that make?"

Jo was still, she barely recognised this man and his voice was so twisted with pain and resentment that there was nothing left of his old jokes. But listening to his words she felt nothing. They were dead. John was dead. He'd died thinking she was dead.

His eyes turned to her, cold and un recognising. She could feel her heart beating so violently in her chest she thought it would just burst, and surely it would be better if it did.

Luke's jaw tensed at her silence, "what do you care anyway?" His voice rose back into a shout.

One tear escaped, rolling slowly down her cheek. "Luke-" her voice caught before she'd figured out the words to say.

It suddenly seemed to register with Luke that the man in front of him knew his name. He raised his eyes, meeting hers with such heavy pain in his expression that Jo wanted to run from him. Luke suddenly recoiled from her violently, his hands scrabbling through the dirt to pull his body away from her.

"You're dead! How are… You… you're…" Luke was breathing heavily as he tried to make sense of what was happening, and before he had the chance he felt hands on his shoulders, dragging him to his feet.

"Alright Monroe, you're for it now lad." His sergeant growled his face red from the exertion of running after him. "You better hope that the Colonel thinks the sun shines out your backside; attacking a Captain, that's a serious offence my boy."

Luke was still stammering as he let the sergeant drag him away, barely able to think clearly Luke didn't resist.

.

Miles was sat in a chair in one of the empty theatres that had become Jo's private room looking distinctively unimpressed with life. His uniform was in a worse state than most of the men arriving from the front and he had given up holding the cloth on his nose, instead he'd just tipped his head back with the rag balanced uselessly on his face.

Tom was stood next to him, fidgeting with his sleeve as he bounced on his heels.

"Will you please stay still," Miles complained a grin on his face. "You're as skittery as the man who has thrown the pin and is left with the grenade."

Tom rolled his eyes at his friend's metaphor. "I'm not the one who just got used as a punch bag," he smirked gesturing at Miles.

"You will be in a minute," Miles threatened lightly, grinning as he dragged his head upright letting the bloodied rag fall into his lap. "Where's Jo?"

"I've told you three times already," Tom's laughed changed into a mocking frown. "Are you sure you don't have concussion?"

The rag hit him in the chest as Miles glared at him, wincing as his expression produced more blood from the cuts across his face. "I might need that back," he grinned sheepishly taking the rag from Tom's outstretched hand as he walked unsteadily towards him. "Where is she though?"

"Still outside," Tom shrugged his worry evident in his face. "I don't know if the lack of shouting is comforting or not."

Miles stopped mopping up the blood from his cheek and turned his head to the door flap, "I'll go find her," he took a few steps forward, then one backwards and two to the side, his arms extended to each side in an attempt to balance. "Perhaps it would be best if you came with me," he suggested with a grin.

Tom rushed to his side, taking hold of his arm. "I don't suppose there's any use telling you to lie down for a bit is there?"

"Nope," Miles smirked, "I had a lie down not that long ago."

"It doesn't count when you're knocked off your feet." Tom rolled his eyes as he slung his arm around Miles' shoulders steering him in the needed direction.

They emerged into the pale sun just as Luke was being dragged from Jo. Miles saw the tears running down her face and he pulled away from Tom, his feet sliding in the mud as he came to crouch beside her. She flinched at his touch, almost cowering away from him.

"Jo?" Miles reached for her again, catching her shoulder. "Jo it's me."

She just stared at him, her face pale and as her eyes flickered from Miles to where she could see Luke being led away. Without so much as a word Jo scrambled to her feet running after her friend, she didn't know what she thought she would be able to do, but she couldn't lose him. She heard Miles swear and then his footsteps were following and so was Tom, but she didn't turn. "Sergeant! Please, I need to talk to him!" She yelled as she reached them.

"This is of no concern to you private," the sergeant dismissed her, shoving Luke towards the office.

Miles skidded into Jo's back, his breath short but this only made his words all the more commanding. "No need to bother the Colonel, sergeant," Miles was leaning on Jo as he waved a hand indicating he wanted Luke to be handed over to him. "I'll deal with this."

"Very good sir," the sergeant saluted and with a nod he left.

Luke dithered, rocking on his heels for a moment before Jo grabbed him into a hug. He instantly wrapped his arms around her holding onto her as tightly as he could, he fingers wove into the fold of his jacket gripping onto him will all the energy she had.

"What's going on?" Tom asked as he joined them, but no one registered his question.

"I can't believe you're alive," Luke was whispering as Jo cried into him. "I'm so sorry, I never thought that…" he broke off biting his lip. "I shouldn't have left him…"

Understanding dawned on Miles' face as Jo twisted out of his arms grabbing the back of his neck. "Don't you dare blame yourself!" She pulled his face round to look at her. "I won't let you. None of it was your fault, Luke." She turned her head to where Miles was still stood trying not to look uncomfortable. "Except maybe Miles' face," she let out a short laugh trying to stop her tears.

Luke winced slightly, "I… I am sorry, sir…"

"Forget it," Miles waved away Luke's stammering apology with a dismissive flick of his hand, "It's not important."

Relief flooded into Luke's face as he leant on Jo's shoulders, "thanks sir."

Miles pulled a face, "please, just Miles. 'Sir' sounds so pretentious, besides we're practically…" He took a deep breath stopping his words. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Luke dropped his arms from Jo's shoulders then realised that Miles was talking to him, "sure?" he glanced at Jo almost wondering if he should be asking for permission.

A smile edged onto Tom's face as he met Miles' eyes, "Come on Jo, let's get you a drink," he offered steering her away throwing one last grin at his friend.

"What is it, sir?" Luke asked with the hint of hesitancy.

Miles chuckled lightly, "you can relax, I just need to talk to you… well ask you something…" he trailed off and Luke stood expectantly waiting for him to finish.

"The thing is…" Miles was struggling to think of how to phrase his words. "When I thought she'd died, what I regretted most… what I hated most was that I'd never told her how much I loved her, and I swore to myself that if, somehow, I would ever see her again I'd ask her to marry me."

Luke's eyes widened in a mixture of shock and delight, "that's-"

"I didn't," Miles cut him off, "I was trying to decide how to when Roland got the telegram about the Germans surrendering, so I thought I'd wait until then, but," he coughed lightly, "I was a bit distracted, and then I had to get out of the court-martial…" he waved his arms with a sigh. "And now…"

Luke guessed the arm waving was supposed to mean 'her brother died and I can't ask her now can I?'. "I may not know you Cap'n, but I know Jo," a sadness slipped into the edges of his smile, "and I know that John would have told you to get your posh backside over there and bleeding propose." Luke slapped him on the back cheerily. "John would also have said that you better look after her, because if you hurt her in any way-"

"Let me guess," Miles smirked ruefully, "you'll kill me?"

Luke grinned sheepishly before shaking his head, "Nah, she'll kill you."

Miles laughed, before his smile slipped into as serious an expression as his face could manage. "I would never hurt her, if she's the only patient I've saved in this war then that's all that matters; I've saved the world." He laughed at how cringe worthy his own words sounded.

"You're a bloody idiot," Luke grinned punching him lightly in the shoulder. "Now, go get you're girl!"

Miles grinned back, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "I will."

..

**Le fin!**

**Not quite the fluff it was planned to be, but I hope you liked it none the less :)**

**I doubt I won't be writing anymore... in fact I have a ton of stories that are either finished or nearly finished, and they may be posted at some time... I'm very bad at actually getting round to uploading them though so who knows ;)**

**anyhoo... bonsoir, old thing, cheerio, chin-chin, napoo, toodle-oo, goodbye-ee**  
**(probably best not to ask)**


End file.
